The first season of Bridgerton was the height of silliness, which I mean as a compliment. With a fake-relationship setup more familiar from rom-coms than real life and a deft combination of barely restrained desire and NSFW love scenes, it’s little wonder the series worked the entire Netflix-subscribing world into a tizzy.

By comparison, the second season feels a bit older and wiser. Its leads are more level-headed this time (if similarly stubborn about denying their true feelings for one another) and their concerns slightly more relatable, leading to a romance that runs deeper and steadier. But it’s hard not to miss, from time to time, the transcendent giddiness of that first season.

Following the basic template laid out by Julia Quinn’s book series, showrunner Chris Van Dusen mostly dispenses with the central couple of the first season; Phoebe Dynevor’s Daphne makes only a handful of supporting appearances, while Regé-Jean Page does not appear at all. Instead, the show’s attentions are turned to the next Bridgerton in line to find a suitable partner: eldest brother Anthony (Jonathan Bailey), a 29-year-old whose handsome looks, reputable family and viscount title make him a highly sought-after catch.

Determined to settle for nothing less than perfection — since, he reasons, that’s what the family legacy demands — he sets his sights on Edwina Sharma (Chaithra Chandran), a sweet-faced newcomer deemed this year’s “diamond” (i.e., most eligible bachelorette) by Queen Charlotte herself (Golda Rosheuvel). But first he’ll have to win the approval of Edwina’s protective older sister Kate (Simone Ashley), who’s made no secret of her contempt for his pompous, insensitive demeanor. It doesn’t take a genius to sniff out the inevitable enemies-to-lovers arc from there.

Among season two’s more impressive accomplishments is that it makes Anthony into a worthy romantic lead at all, after a first season in which he came across as a hotheaded chauvinist. A heartbreaking backstory does most of the heavy lifting — it’s hard not to feel for a guy after you’ve seen his dad die in his arms in a flashback — and reframes his arrogance as the guardedness of an anxious man thrust into leadership too young. Bailey’s stiff posture and sad eyes do the rest, turning Anthony into a variation of the beloved Mr Darcy archetype, down to a wet-white-shirt scene late in the season.

Kate’s story mirrors Anthony’s own. She, too, is the self-sacrificing oldest child of a widowed mother, and plans to resign herself to a life of spinsterhood back in Bombay once Edwina is married off. (In one of the show’s more graceful nods to its onscreen diversity, the Sharmas bring Indian traditions like a pre-wedding haldi ceremony with them, even as they master the intricate rules of the London marriage market.) By Bridgerton standards, it’s a surprisingly solid basis for a relationship. Strip away the fussy gowns, courtly manners and Vitamin String Quartet pop covers, and the core idea of two closed-off people bonding over shared past traumas could be the basis of a naturalistic Sundance dramedy.

Bailey and Ashley’s chemistry feels on the whole more evenly matched than their predecessors’ did. Theirs is not an instant physical connection but a meeting of minds, played out over quick-witted arguments outside ballrooms and vicious competition during a friendly family game of pall mall. Bridgerton being Bridgerton, this does eventually translate into intense sexual tension. The pair get so good at almost-but-not-quite kissing that when they final did lock lips, I briefly mistook it for a fantasy sequence. But the downside of a connection built on more than overwhelming mutual lust is that Bridgerton season two loses much of the (there’s no other way to say it) rampant horniness that made season one such a pleasure to watch.

At eight episodes averaging over an hour each, Bridgerton‘s second season can feel more like a marathon than a fun run. As with last season, the storylines around the central romance prove to be a mixed bag. Penelope, revealed last season as anonymous gossip columnist Lady Whistledown, remains one of the show’s most likable characters thanks to Nicola Coughlan’s bright performance, and Queen Charlotte’s renewed determination to sniff out the writer’s true identity gives the season a jolt of intrigue.

On the other hand, Bridgerton still struggles with the question of where to put all the other Bridgertons until it’s their turn to find love in some future season. Benedict (Luke Thompson) gets a drug-fueled subplot about art school that feels like a halfhearted excuse to throw some naked torsos onscreen. Colin (Luke Newton) literally wanders around parties wondering out loud about his purpose to a lovelorn Penelope.

And while the series once again makes an attempt to inject some modern social relevance into the show’s posh 19^th-century setting — this time with a storyline about Eloise (Claudia Jessie) befriending a man (Calam Lynch) from the wrong side of town, and consequently being compelled to reckon with her privilege — the show’s overall handling of class and race continues to be defined more by good intentions than effective execution. Better, really, to just appreciate that it’s nice that bosom-heaving Regency romances are no longer assumed to be the sole province of white people.

But whatever its stumbles in other areas, Bridgerton continues to nail it in the one arena that counts most — its central romance. Kate and Anthony may not have the burning carnal connection of Daphne and Simon in season one, but their story scratches a different, almost equally satisfying itch. Time will tell how many more love matches Netflix executives have the patience for; although Quinn’s source material spans eight books, one for each Bridgerton, there’s no guarantee Van Dusen will follow the same blueprint. In the meantime, season two backs up the reputation season one earned for delivering fine, frothy romance.