Queen Elizabeth II stood in the White Drawing Room, the late afternoon sun flowing in from the vast windows overlooking the Buckingham Palace gardens.
The soft sunlight made everything look lemony, from the lush carpets to the acres of golden curtains to the queen's perfectly tailored yellow dress and jacket ensemble. Her diamond brooch, the size of a small turtle, sparkled regally.
A handler announced my name.
She looked me in the eye, that face from British money suddenly alive, like a 20-pound note sizing me up.
She extended her hand in a long black glove.
She said nothing.
"Your Majesty," I said, taking her hand and shaking it gently.
The queen looked at me. Silence.
The receiving line was moving along -- she had 350 guests to greet. She's been doing this since Winston Churchill's days, and she knows how to do it efficiently. I suddenly realized I was in danger of meeting the queen and not having even a whiff of conversation to report to my mother.
"I hope you enjoy your trip," I said, referring to her upcoming visit to the United States.
The queen looked a little surprised, and her gaze drifted to my right. Apparently most people in the line were content with a handshake. Had I stepped over some line, violated some protocol, made some royal gaffe?
After a slight pause, she fixed me in the eyes again. Not smiling, but warm.
"Thank you," she said, and turned to the next person in line.
It wasn't exactly tea for two. But the queen and I, we talked.
Rules for meeting the queen
My moment with Elizabeth, the monarch since 1952, began with a gold-embossed invitation, which said: "The Master of the Household has received Her Majesty's command to invite" me to a Buckingham Palace reception on Tuesday evening for Americans working in the United Kingdom.
The queen and her husband, Prince Philip, the duke of Edinburgh, were having a few (hundred) Yanks around for champagne and nibbles ahead of her May trip to Jamestown, Washington and the Kentucky Derby.
Madonna blew off the queen, and Gwyneth Paltrow and Kevin Spacey didn't turn up either. But photographer Annie Leibovitz and plenty of bankers, lawyers, soldiers in uniform, students, diplomats and soccer players heeded the master of the household's beckoning.
There are rules for everything in Britain, so surely there must be rules for meeting the queen. So I called Robert Lacey, a leading British royal historian and the queen's biographer, for a beginner's tutorial.
"The queen has met people in all circumstances, from topless dancers in the South Seas to wigged characters in Europe," Lacey said. "She knows that for the person involved, it is a very important occasion, and she wants it to be a good experience for them. There's nothing much more to it than being natural."
That said, he offered tips: A curtsy or bow is not required anymore.
Address the queen as "Your Majesty" or "Ma'am." And remember, "Ma'am" rhymes with "ham." Don't call her "Mum," which suggests she is your mother.
"Oh, and don't call her Helen, either," Lacey said, referring to Helen Mirren's Oscar-winning portrayal of the queen.
Ideally, it is best to wait for the queen to offer her hand to shake, rather than reaching for hers. And, he said, "Bear in mind that the woman has one of the most shaken hands in the world, and she does appreciate a gentle touch."
Rehearsing the royal approach
Queen-meeting rules were much discussed by guests in the Throne Room, where the receiving line formed, and where the center of attention was two large chairs -- simpler than thrones from the movies -- stuffed softly in pink velvet with the queen's "ERII" monogram on one and a large P, for Philip, on the other.
Everyone rehearsed small talk and debated their royal approach. Several American women said they were out of practice with their curtsying.
"The last time was at a piano recital when I was 10," one fretted.
"I think I'd fall over if I tried," another said.
A uniformed royal handler tried to put them at ease, with stories of others who have done worse.
"The number of men who get nervous and curtsy, you wouldn't believe," he said.
After the receiving line was finished, we all gathered in the Blue Drawing Room and the Picture Gallery, a vast hallway decorated with works by Rembrandt, Canaletto and other masters.
For the next 90 minutes, the queen worked the room in her sturdy black pumps. Her handlers moved ahead of her, setting up small, horseshoe-shaped groups of six or eight people for the queen to meet.
My group consisted of actor Don Johnson, two young Americans from the Oxford University rowing team, my colleague (and wife) Mary Jordan, and U.S. soccer star Brian McBride, who plays in the top British professional league.
The queen approached, minus gloves, carrying a glass of water, the rim thick with lipstick. She wore a string of pearls and single-pearl earrings, with her shiny black handbag dangled over her left forearm, silently posing the question: What's in there, and why?
Small talk
"I had no idea there were so many Americans here," she said to Johnson, who is starring in a London revival of "Guys and Dolls," but still has "Miami Vice" mischief in his eyes.
"We're all slowly working our way back over here," Johnson replied.
The queen appeared to find that amusing, but she was more interested in the two big rowers, Terence Kooyker and Andrew Wright. She asked to see their hands.
They each held out big beefy rower's paws, thick with sore-looking calluses and blisters from the oars. The queen examined them closely, and sympathized as if the young men were her grandchildren.
Mary and I asked her about her trip to Virginia.
"You know, I was there 50 years ago," she said, adding that she was most interested in seeing how much Jamestown had changed. "It's a shock to the system to think I'm going back 50 years later."
The queen turned to McBride, who chatted with her about the Kentucky Derby. The queen has a disarming habit of smiling only when she finds something funny; she lacks the political perma-smile. But McBride's mention of horses and the Derby brought a big smile to her face.
The queen is known for her wicked, dry sense of humor, so I ventured a joke.
"Brian is here teaching the English how to play football," I said, using the British word for soccer. There was nervous laughter all around. The British take their soccer very seriously.
"A different kind of football," she said, teasing right back.
With that, the queen was ushered on to the next group, and the next, and the next, until 8 o'clock sharp, when she passed through a large set of doors and was gone.