Disclaimer- As per usual, I do not own Tarzan or anything having to do with that plot, all OCs and original plot are mine. I don't have much I can call mine so please don't take them.

Authors Note- I am getting ready to start up a new semester of college, so I may not be updating regularly, but I will try my best. As always, I appreciate you if you are reading this and I appreciate you if you have favorited this, but I would REALLY appreciate some reviews! Thank you so much and I hope you enjoy the latest chapter. :)

14 years later

Amelia Aisling Clayton sat in front of her dressing table staring at herself in the mirror. Idly, she played with the cameo at her neck. Amelia sat there, thinking to herself that it was funny how she hadn't been nearly this nervous upon being presented at court and meeting the Queen. With that, though, there was no dancing, and that was what Amelia feared the most. Not the dancing precisely, but rather the fact that her grandfather, Lord Archibald Delaney, Earl of Dunstin, in an effort to give her a "proper coming out" had invited over a hundred people to this ball. One hundred people who would see her dance and see that she, in fact, could not.

It was for this precise reason that Amelia was still in her room instead of downstairs waiting for the arrival of her first guests. She was, after all, the hostess of this party. She wasn't that worried about it though as it would not be her first hosting and the butler would come and get her when it was time, as he has always done. Since her grandmother's passing two years ago, Amelia had taken on the role of lady of the house, slightly begrudgingly, but effectively nonetheless. This was one party, though, that she dearly wished she did not have to host. She rubbed her cameo again and thought of her parents, lost at sea so many years ago. She remembered the morning they left with vivid detail.

She had just recovered from an illness that had bedridden her for days. Her mother had spent the previous two nights in Amelia's bed, hardly believing that she had survived. They had all been sitting down to breakfast. Her grandparents had arrived the night before and were in a huddle talking to her parents. Amelia had wondered what they were discussing at the time and why they weren't telling her. She soon found out. She had cried when her momma had told her that she and papa would be leaving for a little bit. Amelia had not wanted them to go. She begged to be taken with them, but her papa had told her that she was still too weak. She had argued in the way that only a four year old could, with tears and stomping and begging. None of this swayed her papa though, as she knew it wouldn't. Her papa was a gentle man, and kind, but firm. When he made a decision, that decision was kept. He had made up his mind.

Amelia remembered how he had knelt down and hugged her, wiped her nose, and told her that when she was lonely or scared, to just look to the stars or the moon or the sun and know that wherever he and momma were, they were thinking of her. She remembered sniffling and wiping her nose on her sleeve. Papa had chastised her and told her that ladies didn't wipe their noses on their sleeves, ladies wiped their noses on a gentleman's handkerchief, and he had handed her his. She blew her nose and hugged him again. Momma had bent down and hugged and kissed her. Then, she reached behind her neck, untied her cameo necklace and tied it around little Melly's neck. That cameo had not left her neck since that day, despite her grandmother telling her that it was too grown up for her at the time and for years afterward. Twelve months later, they received word that the ship her parents had been on had gone down somewhere off the coast of Africa, near Boma. There had been no survivors.

Amelia looked at herself in the mirror and shook her head in an effort to make the memories go away, her red curls threatening to come loose from the fashionable coiffure her maid had put her hair up in. She detested dwelling on those harsh memories and preferred to look ever forward towards the future. Today, however, it was difficult. All of this would have been so much easier with her mother helping her. Her mother would know precisely what to say in order to alleviate her fears and soothe her nerve. There were so many accomplished ladies already out this season. Ladies who could sing and dance, play every instrument they touched, and their needle works, watercolors, and drawings often rivaled the art of Michelangelo himself. It wasn't as though she wasn't accomplished, Amelia reminded herself. She was just accomplished in other ways.

She could ride like she was born in the saddle. She played the piano so passionately that no one ever complained about her lack of technique. Her vocal talents lay more geared towards linguistics than singing. The one time she had tried needlework, she had pricked all of her fingers multiple times, however she could stitch up a tear in a shirt or breeches and make the mend barely noticeable. She was awful at water colors or drawing, but loved to write, though she didn't fancy herself very good at that either. In her head, she knew these were all achievements, but she knew what the young debutantes mothers could be like. They would drag her through the coals in the most subtle way possible. They would drive her into a corner that she would not be able to get out of without humiliating herself. All to make sure their daughters made a better match than she. Her stomach did a flip and she closed her eyes, wishing for nothing more than her mother and a fortifying cup of tea.

A knock came from her door and she turned in her seat to see who it was. Her maid, Emmaline, came in with a tray of tea. Well, that was half a wish. Amelia supposed it was the best she would get. She smiled at her godsend.

"Evening, Lady Amelia," Emmaline greeted her, "I thought I'd come and check on you. Make sure you're doing alright and I brought some tea to settle any nerves that might be fluttering around in that stomach of yours," She ended, rather jovially.

Amelia smiled, Emmaline always knew what she needed and when. It came from years of working as her nurse before becoming her lady's maid.

"Thank you, Emmaline, I was just wishing for a cup of tea, but I wasn't quite brave enough yet to descend into the bowels of the kitchen to fetch it myself. I believe Cook would have turned me right over to my Grandpapa if she had seen me invading her territory." Amelia said with a smile on her face. Although, in all honesty, Cook probably would have turned her in.

"Aye, probably, Lady Mel." Emmaline agreed, using her pet name. Amelia smiled, Emmaline and her mother had been two of a very small group of people who call her Mel or Melly. Her Grandmother had detested it, saying nicknames were an abomination.

Another knock on the door interrupted their chat and Amelia braced herself as the butler, Wilson, walked in.

"Excuse me, my lady, but your grandfather is requesting your presence downstairs. The guests are beginning to arrive." He said smartly.

Amelia took one last sip of tea, shared a look with Emmaline, and followed Wilson downstairs to meet her guests.

And that concludes this chapter of All Sorts of Jungles. Hope you enjoyed it, and if you did, shoot me a review. I'd love to hear from you. Until next time! :)