Carlisle had offered her his arm when her phone rang.
“I forgot to put it on vibrate,” Merry muttered, fumbling with the side of her gown. She removed the device from a pocket. “It’s from Hannah.” Merry put the phone to her ear. “Are the children all right?”
A flash of alarm stabbed through him. Was the young woman experienced enough? Had it been a mistake to leave both children with her?
“We’ll be right there,” Merry said, sounding worried.
“What is it?” he asked when she ended the call.
“Both of the children are vomiting. Alex did it first, but then Grace started. I can’t imagine trying to comfort two sick children by myself.”
“I’ll let Gretchen know.” Carlisle pulled out his own phone and started texting.
“I’ll tell Mom too.” Merry retrieved hers as they hurried to the coat check.
He let her step through the door first but couldn’t help glancing back at the beautifully decorated room. So much for holding Merry in his arms again and dancing with her.
16
Carlisle said nothing as they drove back to his house. His thoughts seemed to be as occupied with his sick daughter as Merry’s were with Alex. The poor little kids. She hoped it wasn’t anything serious. When Alex had been younger, he’d had a sensitive stomach and used to have a night of vomiting every month or two. It hadn’t happened in a year, and she’d thought he’d outgrown it.
Merry pulled into the now snow-covered driveway and stopped in front of the house. It looked like the storm was moving along faster than the weather forecasters had expected. She lifted her long skirts and coat, but the snow leaking into her pumps made her wish she had on boots. It helped that Carlisle was by her side helping her navigate the now inches-deep snow.
“I’m so sorry,” Hannah called as soon as Carlisle opened the door. “I didn’t know what else to do but call.”
When they entered the living room, they found her sitting in the middle of the couch with one child stretched out on each side of her. Their heads rested on her lap, each holding a small trash can. Both of their faces were flushed, and they looked miserable.
“Oh, Papa,” Grace said with a tremulous voice before she started to cry.
Carlisle tossed off his overcoat and hurried to lift his daughter, while Merry did the same with Alex. He’d gotten so tall over the last few months that it was difficult for her to lift him easily. Hannah stood, looking unsure.
“You did fine,” Merry assured her. “Having two sick children is above and beyond the call of duty for any babysitter, so don’t you worry about it. But the snow’s really coming down out there, so you’ll want to get home soon. Is it okay to text you your money? I’ll include a big tip because you’ve earned it.”
“Thank you, Merry. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Wyndham.” Hannah glanced at Carlisle where he’d sat back on the sofa with Grace and was brushing back her damp curls. “Sorry the kids got sick and ruined your night.”
“It wasn’t your fault. Let me get your coat.” He started to rise, but Hannah held up a hand.
“No, I can find my way out.”
“Oh, Hannah,” Merry called out, “Do you remember when they last threw up?”
“About ten minutes ago.”
“Thank you.”
Merry sank to the couch, suddenly exhausted. This was absolutely not the way she had expected to spend the evening. Alex’s little body felt warm against her arms. She slid her hand up the back of his pajama top.
“Don’t,” he whined. “Your hand’s cold.”
“Alex is feverish,” she said softly to Carlisle. “Is Grace?”
“Yes, she is. Grace, my love, I need to get the thermometer. Can you sit by Merry?”
The sweet child shifted her position and rested her head in Merry’s lap. Carlisle returned quickly with one of the handheld devices similar to what her doctor used. He held it near his daughter’s forehead, and it almost instantly vibrated.
“Over a hundred. I must say it took some time to adjust to using Fahrenheit when we moved here.” He shifted the thermometer near Alex’s forehead. “A tad higher still.”
“We’ll need to watch it then in case it gets higher. They don’t have chills.”
